


Numinous

by wereworm



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Fjord builds a boat and floats in a lake, Gen, Minor Violence, Symbolism, but im so busy rn and i needed to get this out asap, he's fulfilling all my dreams, it's really short sorry, uhhhhhhh its pretty much just about fjord ditching uk'otoa's sorry ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wereworm/pseuds/wereworm
Summary: Fjord severs the bond between Uk'otoa and himself, instead accepting the Wildmother.





	Numinous

**Author's Note:**

> throws this at you. please take it. god its awful.

They set up camp a kilometre or so away from the main road, hoping that the distance will give them some privacy. The forests here are beautiful and, due to their proximity to several smaller farming villages, mostly free of predators. The spring air is sweet and when they find the clearing, no one bothers setting up any cover; they’d decided to camp to enjoy the serenity of nature and to sleep under a roof would hide the bright stars and two moons from their view. They’re meant to be going somewhere but Fjord can’t remember where. He remembers walking and he remembers finding the clearing with its flowers and mushrooms. He remembers eating with the others and exploring a bit with Jester and he remembers falling asleep. He barely remembers his dreams, only recalls floating in the ocean with pressure that slowly increases on him until he feels like he’s going to burst. It suddenly releases, an act heralded by a brilliant light shimmering through the depths. It’s weird, even for him; the oceans have always stayed dark and cold before this, leaving him to wake up with a chill in his bones and a heaviness in his chest. Past that, Fjord can’t remember anything about why they’re here or what he dreamt of.

He wakes up, though, and knows what he needs to do. He waits until everyone’s had breakfast and tells them he’s going to go on a walk, alone. Jester and Beau both shoot him concerned looks but neither say anything. Caleb, already taking the opportunity to read more, doesn’t acknowledge his words but Nott, sitting by his side, nods. Caduceus sends him a curious look, with something that almost seems like recognition in his dark gaze but turns away after a moment. Fjord nods and sets off into the woods. With each step, his mind seems to sink deeper into the haze, yet he feels a stark sense of clarity echoing within.

The change in the forest as he continues on is so subtle, he barely notices it. The roots, previously twisting over those of other trees and covered in a thin layer of dirt become smooth and, where the moss parts, shine a deep maroon in the morning light. The ground that was covered in the rotting leaves from winter give way to soft grass and muddy puddles dry into springy soil. The flowers, small and delicate, shift from the typical shades of pale pink and violet to more odd and vibrant colours, ones that Fjord has never seen before, some almost looking like kaleidoscopes. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking; it could have been minutes or days or months for all he knows, but he finally reaches what he knows to be his destination.

It’s a lake, maybe twenty metres across and lined by golden sand. Surrounding it are short but sturdy-looking trees. Something subliminal says that they’re perfect for building a rowboat, so he does. He takes out his falchion, staring at the single golden eye that watches him balefully. As he turns it over in his hands, one of the barnacles scrapes across his right palm, slicing it. It bleeds much more than it should, blood dripping onto the grass, splattering and staining it a deep crimson. He wipes his hands along the length of the blade and he feels its edge digging into his palm, widening and deepening the cut but the pain is distant. When he pulls his hand away, it’s bleeding even more than before but the eye in the guard seems less displeased. Fjord releases a sigh of relief and pulls his arm up before swinging down on one of the trees. The branch falls onto the ground with a low thud and Fjord gets to work.

It’s slow going, the sun inching across the sky as he hacks at the trees, separating branches into segments and then whittling them down and carving them into the right shape. Fjord makes small pegs with the leftover parts of the branches, loathe to waste the wood, using them to join the larger pieces of the vessel together. He hasn’t made a rowboat before, but the skills come naturally to him, a picture forming in his mind along with the steps to follow. Sweat trickles down his back from the labour but his hands never start hurting and his back never locks up from leaning over too long. It takes him several hours more than it should to realise that he is not tiring as he should, not parched or hungry or sore.

He completes the boat and dematerialises the falchion. Fjord walks the circumference of the lake, surprised by how perfectly circular it is, looking for a spot where there aren’t any plants growing. It’s hard but he finds a place, going back to the boat to drag it over. Then, he gets on his hands and knees and start scooping the soil into the boat. He keeps going until the dirt is under his nails and caked into his palms, until the boat is mostly full. Then he sits back and waits. Flowers start growing and grass covers the dirt, springing up in minutes. Fjord leans in and breathes in. The flowers smell fresh and he can smell the soil underneath, but Fjord is surprised to smell something reminiscent of the ocean breeze that fills the sails of the ships and tousles his hair on the deck. It smells of home in a way nothing else ever has, reminding Fjord of late nights talking to Vandren over a bottle of liquor and of the reverence he feels when he sees the beauties the open seas have to offer him.

The others had sailed with him in their ship and although they had felt awe when faced with the ocean, they never seemed to feel it quite as deeply as he did. Avantika did, though in a different way. She had seen the ocean as something powerful to control and utilise, but Fjord knows better. He sometimes thinks that that’s why he’s still here and she’s not. The sea is not something to be controlled and Fjord would never dare assume he held any power over it. He was promised control over it, but Fjord doesn’t want to be in charge. He doesn’t want to sail the seas that belong to him; he’s always meant to belong to them. For now, his loyalties are to his friends, but the day will come when the group splits for good and, when it does, he’s going back to where he belongs. His loyalty is something so intrinsic to him that he doesn’t even question his future, knowing where he’ll be going. He loves his friends more than nearly anything but he’s not sure if he can manage a life on land. The ocean calls to him and he’s worried that one day, his friends won’t be enough to keep him there. But for now, he’s with them heart and soul, entirely, and he’s willing to lay his life down for them.

He pulls back away and the scent of the ocean fades from his sense. Satisfied, Fjord stands up and drags the boat down to the lake. He pushes it in and nearly sighs in relief when it floats. He follows it in, walking until the water is up to his shins, pushing it as he goes. He pushes it one final time and hops in. He lies down on his back and watches the clouds shift overhead as it slowly drifts to the centre of the lake before stopping. Fjord waits and breathes in. He watches the dragonflies dance past his head in shades of iridescent blue and green, and tilts his head to look at the koi swimming in the waters just below. He listens to the gentle breeze work its way through the branches and to the quiet trilling of larks in the distance. It’s a level of peace Fjord never thought he would reach.  

It's with reluctance that Fjord drags himself upright. Holding his hand out, Fjord summons his sword. He flips it over until the tip is touching his sternum and then he starts pushing. In and in and in it goes and Fjord nearly cries out in agony. For the first time since he left the camp, he doubts. _What if this is the end?_ No sooner than he thinks this, the pain begins to dull, and he pushes it all the way through until the guard rests against his stomach. He sways to the side and tips himself over the edge of the boat.

He lands in the water quietly and sinks like a stone until he’s floating in dark water several feet from the surface of the lake. It gets darker around him, the surface growing further and further away and the pressure on his body increases. It’s like he’s in one of his dreams and Fjord feels a visceral sense of fear. The pressure grows stronger and stronger and his vision starts to go spotty, darkness encroaching. Knowing he won’t last much longer, Fjord regrets, He regrets that he won’t be able to keep travelling with his friends, that he won’t be able to keep them safe and make sure they get the happy endings they deserve. All he wants is one more chance, to dedicate his life to _them_ , to lay it down for _them_ , to live for _them_. The pressure is getting so tight Fjord can feel his ribs start to crack his mouth opens and saltwater gushes in. He’s just about to close his eyes when the waters are suddenly illuminated.

When he was in one of his dreams communicating with _Him_ , he would float in darkness until _He_ opened one of his monstrous eyes, pinning Fjord down in the sickly golden glow of one of them. Instead, the waters lighten around him, turning an almost pale teal colour. He can see the plants on the bottom lightly swaying in the current and he can see the koi even closer, darting around. He looks up and the surface is close, so very close. It’s like he’s back in the lake again but although the pressure on his chest has lightened, the hold that keeps him down in the waters hasn’t and Fjord’s mouth opens again. This time, the water is clear and fresh. Then the pressure’s gone.

Like a gentle hand slipping from his shoulders, Fjord is released from his bind and starts swimming up, the currents supporting him and propelling him where he wants to go. He makes it into the shallows and starts crawling out of the water, on his hands and knees. He stops when he’s nearly out of the water and just breathes. He heaves and hacks up the saltwater, spitting it out onto the sand. With his head down he can see how his shirt, previously stained from blood, is dripping clear water onto the sand beneath, no blood to be seen. The sword is still in his stomach but as he keeps gulping in air, he feels no pain. Then he sees a hand before him.

It’s small with neatly trimmed nails and callouses lining the palms. Perfectly ordinary save for the fact that is appears to be carved out of wood, a similar shade to that comprising the boat. Fjord hesitates for a moment, unsure of whether to trust them, before grasping it. Immediately he’s pulled to his feet with surprising force and he almost looks at the person who rescued him, but instead keeps his eyes fixed down at his feet. He sees the bottom of a woman’s gown. It’s a deep shade of green, the same as the grass he sat upon and he can see the same small flowers that have been scattered throughout the forest worked into the length of it along with the occasional mushroom. It’s _Her_.

She lets go of his palm and Fjord nearly starts crying, tears welling up in his eyes. Instead, her hand comes to rest on the pommel of the falchion still buried in his stomach. A single finger trails around it and Fjord is made aware of the fact that she could kill him at any moment, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. But, in the same way he knew how to make the boat and that he needed to go onto the lake, he knows she won’t hurt him. Instead, she pulls. Out and out and out it comes but unlike before there’s no pain. As the tip finally leaves his body, his hands reach up to feel what should be a gaping wound. Instead, his fingers find smooth skin, a little bruised from a past fight, but without any of the damage that would have been dealt by the sword. He breathes heavily, his entire chest expanding with the depth of it and he takes in the clear, fresh air that hasn’t been tainted by the scent of blood that should be gushing out of his stomach.

He’s still not looking at her but after a few moments she offers his sword back to him. Her hands are both palm up and the falchion rests on them but it’s changed. Where barnacles once encrusted the blade and _He_ left his eye on the guard, always watching him and judging him, he sees a water lily on the guard and thin vines running up the length of the sword. It’s shining brighter and clearer than it ever has before and there’s not a trace of the darkness that once emanated from within. He reaches out, absently noting that the hand he reached out to grasp hers is no longer bleeding, the cut from before sealed over and invisible. She places in in his open hands and, as he tightens his grasp on his falchion, she cups the back of his hands and leans in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Fjord looks up in shock and sees the Wildmother clearly for the first time. Her face, ethereal and stunning, is watching him with joy in her blue eyes. The longer he stares into them, the more they change, waves rising and falling, storms raging, and water lapping at the shore. She’s the wild, she’s nature personified, and she’s more powerful than anyone Fjord’s ever met before. Even _Him_. Yet there’s something undoubtedly kind in her gaze. Her eyes are lined with crow’s feet and she has dimples when she smiles at him. _This_ is the deity he would pray to before embarking on his long journeys across the sea, and this is who he would thank when he makes it back alive. Fjord sees her for all that she is, as he’s sure that she sees him, and he only feels relief that she was the one that pulled him out of the waters.

“Do you swear to protect your friends?” Her voice is pure and light, and Fjord could almost forget about who she is if it weren’t for the slight echo to her words, making them louder and giving them an odd echo.

“Aye,” Fjord replies, the words smoothly coming out of his mouth. It’s his real voice. When he was with _Him_ , it always felt forced the creature had dug deep within his soul and dragged out the parts that hurt the most to poke and prod at. The Wildmother asks for him – not demanding – for Fjord in his entirety, in all his truth, and he will give it to her willingly.

She nods, a pleased smile crossing her face, “And I swear to protect you, my dear child.”

The tears finally break free and he feels them trickle down his cheek and the saltiness of them doesn’t instil Fjord with fear anymore. Her arms spread wide, long sleeves trailing the ground and draws him into a warm embrace. They sink to the ground and together they sit on that shore, silently watching the day go by. As dusk approaches, the exhaustion settles in and Fjord’s eyes become heavier and heavier, each blink lasting longer and longer. The Wildmother’s heart beats beneath his head, a rhythm that is far too slow for any normal creature and she’s humming a quiet tune. It’s peaceful. Eventually, his eyes close and he doesn’t bother opening them again.

When he wakes up, the Wildmother is gone and he’s back at the camp with the others.  They’re all sitting around the campfire and when Fjord drags himself over to sit with them, Beau and Jester shuffle over to make room for him. He lowers himself to the ground and immediately Beau is serving him dinner while Jester leans in to rest against his shoulder. Fjord catches Caduceus’ gaze from across the flames and Caduceus starts whistling the same tune that the Wildmother had hummed by the lake. After a moment of shocked silence, Fjord copies. Caduceus doesn’t say anything, but he looks pleased as he turns back to his food. The others are looking between the two of them, confused, and Fjord awkwardly scratches his arm.

He opens his mouth to try and explain but Caleb holds up a hand, cutting him off.

“Is everything alright now?”

“Yeah,” Fjord replies, “I think it is.”

It’s not the entire truth because the Sword of Damocles still hangs over their heads and they court danger with each action they make. But for now, with the Wildmother accepting him and his friends by his side, he actually has hope that they may be.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr if you wanna chat. I'm neverdoingmuch.


End file.
